I Have a History of losing my shirt
by vkdemon
Summary: future!fic Sebastian/Dave. Dave knows the man's type as soon as he walks into Dave's little bar in Lima. One-shot featuring ScandalsOwner!Dave


**Title:** I Have A History (of losing my shirt)  
**Author:** Dragon  
**Rating:** R  
**Pairing:** Dave/Sebastian  
**Word Count:** 1,200  
**Warnings:** brief mention of past self-harm and OMW suicide attempt  
**AN:** Future!fic, Cannon to OMW, For tumblr Smythofsky Week: Day 3 Theme Scandals

Dave knows the type the instant the man walks in. It's etched in the thrown back shoulders, the quirked judging eyebrow, the wide smile that promises a romp in the sheets and a kick in the ass come the dawn. He serves over the order of mimosa, a fancy drink for man-watching. He can see the man doesn't really like the drink, but it's all about style and image. When the first man came on over with a grin a mile wide Dave knows what will happen. The handsome man at the bar barely gives the man a look. A biting comment and the admirer wanders off with a bruised ego to lick.

Long legs spread, his arms take up as much of the bar as they can. He judges every person in Scandals and finds only a few up to standards. The patron sighs, leaning back to address the bar keep without seeing him. "What happened to this town? There used to be some good ass."

The barkeep wonders how many men behind the counter have listened to this same line. He wonders if they are as irritated as he.

Dave slid over a scotch on the rocks despite the man's request for a cocktail. The moan from the lips is enough for the barkeep to know his instinct was right. He watched the patron linger his lips on the cool glass and Dave knew why men would be willing to feel the burn in the morning for a chance at the pleasure the guy could bring. Of course Dave knows plenty of the men in Scandals have the low-esteem that comes from small homophobic town Ohio. He could point them out and send the player on his way. Instead he speaks.

"Still is, but most of that ass isn't looking for something temporary." Dave's voice rumbles in the calm bemusement Scandals brings him.

"Lousy with monogamy, everywhere seems to be infected with it." the patron sighs. He sips his the last of his scotch. "How did you know? Have we fucked?"

Dave shakes his head. He reaches out to take the tumbler from the man's finger. He catches Dave's hand. He lightly strokes a finger from the top of Dave's wrist to the tip of his middle finger. "You must be large. Not usually my type."

Dave says nothing, waiting to see if the man remembered him. It was almost 15 years ago from high school now. "You like short men, or at least men who look innocent."

The patron turns his hand over, stroking from finger tip to inner wrist this time. It stops suddenly just shy of the scars that end at his wrist. Dave wonders if the man knows how loud his gasp was. He covers it up by dropping Dave's hand and turning away. "Another scotch barkeep."

"Don't do men with scars?" Dave can't help himself.

"Too risky."

"Not into intimacy..." the patron shifts, no longer spread out like he rules the world.

"I'm not into being responsible for someone's death." The patron snaps, looking like he's ready to walk out without that second scotch.

"Sebastian, it wasn't your fault."

The long patron spins around do fast he nearly falls. His hands slap down on the counter to keep himself up. His eyes are the same faded jade and his eyebrows still point like tiny Devil's horns. The years sit well on him, the lifestyle has only worn down the edges of his eyes and the curve of that smug attitude rests in tiny lines at his mouth. He's still long and smooth and muscled in all the right places.

"David Karofsky."

"I'm not dead. Don't say my name like I'm a ghost." Dave's smile is wide, the years of laugh lines had over-set any of his teen anger. His face was aged by a thick well groomed brown beard. Dave was still broad and the mid-western living had kept his bulk and soft stomach. His arms however were thick, years of closing shop and weights kept them enviable.

"You look...good. Surprisingly good."

"Thanks. You too. Still the kind to have your pick of the room."

"Some things never change. But you... You look like a grade a papa bear now. boys here must love you."

"The still call me Bearcub. And I have friends." Dave leaned on the bar, putting himself closer to Sebastian. "I could ask about your job and why your back... or I could pry information out of you that you don't want to tell but need to. I am a barkeep."

"Warblers two hundredth anniversary."

"And not the stuff you don't want to tell me?"

"What do I get for it?" Sebastian challenges. The hard set jaw line tells Dave that the singer isn't giving in easily, but that's no surprise.

"What do you want?"

"A good lay while I endure this place." Sebastian gulps his scotch.

"Well. I know a single guy, hangs around here plenty, even has a room upstairs. Only problem is he doesn't do one night stands."

"I'm only in town for a week."

"Well that's long enough for something more then a one-night stand."

"He hot?" Sebastian looked back at the crowd as if he really believes they aren't just playing a game.

"Well. Am I?"

Sebastian smiles and looks Dave over. "He bottom?"

"Yep."

"How about topping?"

"That too." Dave rumbles with laughter as Sebastian's grin widens.

"Fisting?"

"With these hands?"

"Point." Sebastian takes an ice cube, slips it into his lips and sucks oh so lewdly. "A week fling it is. Davey. When do you close?"

"2am."

"That's forever." Sebastian stands and for a moment Dave thinks he's changed his mind. "Since I'm now a week-long man of yours I should help you impress your boss. Let's turn this place on fire."

Dave pours a drink for a regular and suddenly the stage lights up. The stage is an addition put in about 5 years ago when Dave had a windfall from his father's life insurance. He's set up drag shows and while it didn't bring that much more revenue it was just fun. Now Sebastian was up on that stage, cuing up the sound system like he owned the place.

"Evening gentlemen." Sebastian's smirk was directed right at Dave. His eyes darted away to work over the audience. The backing music was cued up by Steve, Tina Turner on Tuesdays and suddenly an oldie came on, Glad You Came. The innuendo pulled laughter from the barkeep and the dance moves forced him to serve drink with a raging stiffy.

And then Sebastian Smythe strips. It comes off slowly, piece by piece until his was in low slung tight jeans. Dave rumbles a 'ain't he something' and his customer claps him on the arm with a friendly grin. Small town gay bar like this meant everyone would know about Sebastian and him within an hour. Someone would e-mail him a video. Hell Santana would probably call him demanding to know ho sex went and when her little one was getting a second uncle. Dave smiles a little sadly. No this is one week.

Shirtless Sebastian struts over after the 3rd song and asks for a water no ice. He dumps is over his head, the deluge caressing every muscle and sharp angle.

What a week it will be.


End file.
